Embry and the New Shirt
by Forgotten Cat
Summary: Embry shows up at a pack meeting wearing... a new shirt! Just a little slice of life with the wolves...


_Boilerplate: The Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer – I'm just playing in it. I don't own anything except my laptop computer._

_I hope you enjoy this! No romance, just a little slice of life with the pack…_

***

If 'werewolf' were to become a widely recognized subculture within American society, the Gallup Corporation would surely undertake – as they do – a survey of the behaviors and beliefs held by the American werewolf. And if the Gallup Corporation were to poll the werewolves located in the northwest corner of Washington State, they would probably find that werewolves pretty consistently placed the lack of clothing required to be a werewolf within the top three benefits to their lifestyle.

The particular pack of werewolves we are concerned with particularly enjoys walking around semi-clothed in the cold and rainy climate of the Olympic Peninsula, especially when those not blessed with an internal temperature of 108 degrees have been forced by the weather to bundle under layers and layers of warm and waterproof clothing. Recent convert Quil Atara almost wasn't sure which was the more awesome side effect of this clothing-lite existence – never having to pick out an outfit or the admiring glances his newly buff physique received from most of the local ladies and selected gentlemen. While werewolf Sam Uley's fiancée Emily Young often lamented the fact that she could never get him into the crisp blue oxford and tailored khakis that she had purchased for him because he claimed that 'he didn't want to ruin them when he phased,' the truth of the matter was that both the werewolves and the outlying community were fairly content with the lack of clothing look favored by the pack.

"Who am I going to meet over at Paul's house anyway that hasn't already seen me totally naked? Oprah? The Queen?" Leah once cheekily asked her mother, Sue, who had been eyeballing Leah's chosen outfit of a sports bra and cutoff jean shorts with some disapproval. And, indeed, once one has seen his or her packmates nude for the hundredth time, any novelty or titillation one might have once gained from the experience would have long since evaporated. What's the occasional flash of butt, boob, or bush between packmates?

What all of this boils down to is that there was a reason why every person seated in Sam Uley's living room waiting for the pack meeting to start turned to look at Embry Call as he sauntered in—he was wearing a shirt, and not just a regular T-shirt that had a logo praising a local sports team or advertising the now defunct oldies radio station. No, Embry Call was wearing a button down shirt, black with multi-hued embroidery around the cuffs and collar—it had pearl buttons.

Embry sat down beside Quil on the far end of Sam's battered couch. "Hey, sorry I'm late," he said offhandedly. Quil greeted him with a smile, as did Jacob, who was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Jared, who was sitting in the cushy green armchair across the room, waved. And Sam, perched authoritatively on the kitchen stool, gave Embry a stern hello. Leah, who was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with as much of her back to Sam as was possible, just ignored him and Paul, sprawled out on the floor next to her, smirked.

"Who died, Call?" said Paul in a faux-serious voice. "Oh wait, don't tell me—was it your pride?"

"Dude, shut up," Embry spit back, annoyed. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's just a shirt."

Paul nodded thoughtfully and put his hand up to his chin, as if stroking an invisible beard. "Does Leah know you've been raiding her wardro—"

"Paul! Shut it." Sam interrupted Paul's quip just as Leah was about to reach over and smack him. "We're not here to discuss Embry's clothes."

"I think he looks nice," piped in Emily, who entered the living room carrying a huge plate of muffins. Embry sank further into the couch at the compliment, neglecting to even take a muffin.

"Right," said Sam with a mouth full of banana-nut muffin, "so, we need to improve our communications codes. After the incident last night—" he looked sternly at Quil and Jacob, who quickly looked elsewhere "–with Auntie Miracle's dog and the clothesline."

The only response from the pack was the chewing and swallowing of muffins.

Leah gave a big sigh. "Just because those two dumbasses attack some laundry, we all get punished for it?" bitched Leah. "That's not fair."

"Hey! I didn't attack laundry!" insisted Quil. "You would have been spooked, too, if you had been there."

"Yeah, right," said Leah, rolling her eyes. "Unlike some people, I can tell the difference between a ghost and Auntie Miracle's dog wrapped in a bed sheet. Here's a hint – one of them is imaginary."

In the interests of fostering a smoother pack dynamic Quil had often told himself that he should act as if Leah teased him out of a brotherly affection. Although his good intentions usually fell to the wayside as soon as she struck a nerve. "You don't know ghosts aren't real, Leah," said Quil with a little more anger than was strictly necessary. "What are you, some sort of psychic now? Are you going to go tell fortunes on TV?"

Leah closed her eyes and waved her fingers in the air. "I can see the future—and it looks like me kicking your butt."

Quil began to stand up to lunge at her but Jacob grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down.

"I think Sam's right," said Jacob. "We should do some drills, just in case." He reached down and grabbed the last muffin. "You never when leeches might try to step foot onto our territory."

Sam, who had been watching the scene with a growing annoyance, nodded approvingly at him. "Well, I'm glad one of you mutts has his head on straight."

"He's just worried about his leech-lover girlfriend. I don't know why, it's not like she puts out," said Paul under his breath, which given that he was in a room of full of werewolves with excellent hearing was not an effective way of preventing anyone from hearing his snide remark—which was perhaps the point. Leah snorted, amused, and Jacob glared at both of them.

"What was that, Paul?" said Sam, loudly; "You want to run extra patrols along the Forks border tonight?"

Paul groaned and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Now, I know we're all on edge," continued Sam, "but this is important. We're protecting our land—our people. We didn't let the white people run us off and we're sure as hell not going to let some bloodsuckers tell us what to do. Alright? So let's get moving. The sooner we practice the sooner you all can go about your delinquent and bitchy ways—except Paul, who will be doing patrols."

A chorus of mumbled assents accompanied by nodding signaled the pack's agreement to Sam's plan.

Sam stood up and put his hands on his hips. "Okay then, that's more like it. Phase out back and we'll meet in Hatch's Grove in no more than 10 minutes."

Within minutes, five of the six members had stripped down and phased, leaving their clothes strewn about Sam's backyard. But Embry moved slowly. Waiting for everyone to leave the room before he carefully unbuttoned his shirt and folded it neatly, placing it on the couch where he had been sitting. He reached down and stroked the embroidery fondly before running out back, flinging off his jean cutoffs and phasing.

The drills went as smoothly as they ever did, with frequent delays as pack members sparred with each other for such varied offensives as 'being a dumbass,' 'thinking too much about Kim,' 'doing [the action in question] on purpose,' and the classic 'I hate your face.' It took a good three hours of running, drilling, and mental concentration as the pack tried to send clear images through the packmind before Sam was satisfied and called it a day.

Sam was going to scout an odd-smelling cave up north before heading back but the rest were free to do as they pleased, except Paul, who had to patrol. The rest of the pack tiredly ran back to Sam's house to collect their clothes. Jared and Leah got back first, phased, changed, and were gone before Quil, Jacob, and Embry ambled up. The three had been distracted by a potential sighting of Mary Crow undressing in front of her bedroom window, which, unfortunately for the them, had turned out to be a false alarm.

Embry was still pulling on his jean shorts, when the already re-panted Quil and Jacob gave each other evil glances and ran into the house ahead of him.

"Oh, shit," said Embry, dreading what he knew was in store for him. He slowly climbed the stairs back inside.

"Hi, Embry," Emily greeted him cheerfully, stirring a big pot of something delicious smelling. "The boys went through into the living room –said they forgot something."

"I figured," said Embry glumly and he entered the living room to see Jacob wearing the fancy shirt.

"I bet you 10 bucks you wouldn't wear that over to meet Bella," said Quil, giggling.

"No way, dude, she likes me all natural," said Jacob, flexing his arms. "These guns can't be tamed by mere fabric."

This was too much for Embry. "Jake, man, give me back my shirt! You're going to ruin it!"

Jacob and Quil laughed—not out of meanness, although it felt that way to Embry, but teenage boys often miss out on those social cues that indicate that the party being affectionately teased is not quite enjoying himself.

"Come Embry, it's just a shirt," said Jacob, grinning.

"And I think it was ruined already," quipped Quil. "Where did you even get this—did you borrow it from your mom?"

The two grinned good-naturedly at their friend, who, in turn, tried to wrestle Jacob to the ground. After a few minutes of tussling and a threat from Emily to soak them with the garden hose, Quil managed to separate Jacob and Embry.

"If it means that much to you—here!" yelled Jacob, ripping the shirt off. Pearl buttons went flying. "It was just a joke, Embry. You don't have to take everything so seriously."

"You're one to talk, Jake. We can't even mention the B-word without you turning into a walking Bright Eyes song."

Jacob's face froze. "That's low, Embry," he said.

"Yeah, not cool," added Quil.

"Why don't you two go on home now," said Emily, who had been watching from the doorway. "I'm sure you have better things to do than bicker in the middle of my living room."

Neither Jacob nor Quil enjoyed fighting with their friend and were glad of the excuse to leave. They bid Emily a hasty good-bye and took off through the front door.

Embry had bent down to gather the scattered buttons. Emily watched him. "Do you want me to sew those up for you?" she asked, kindly.

"You can do that? I mean, yes," replied Embry, his eyes looking suspiciously watery.

Emily picked up the shirt from the floor and held out her hand. Embry put the buttons in it.

"Come on, let's get you fixed up," said Emily, and led him into the kitchen. Embry sat down at the kitchen table and Emily dug up a needle and thread from a drawer. Although she was by no means as good a seamstress as she was a cook, Emily could reattach a button with little difficulty—living with a werewolf does give one ample opportunities to practice small tasks like that. Emily hummed to herself as she sewed.

They sat comfortably for a few minutes in the warmth of the kitchen.

"So—" said Embry, when curiosity and his stomach finally got the better of him, "what are you cooking?"

"I'm making chili," replied Emily, here eyes on her work.

"That's cool," said Embry. "My mom doesn't cook much, you know."

"I know." Emily smiled. "How is she doing by the way? Did that new job work out for her?"

"Yeah, she's been at 7 Cedars Casino for about 3 months now—they just took her on fulltime." Embry was proud of his mom. She had been looking for a steady job for a while now and the trial period at the Casino had been rough. Embry was covered as a minor with government health care but the benefits ran out for his mom once she started getting paid. They scraped up enough for her heart meds but it wasn't easy. But now she was fulltime—with benefits. "She got me that shirt at the Casino store, as a present."

Emily tied off the thread on the last button and handed the shirt back to Embry. He put it on and buttoned it up. She turned him around and brushed the wrinkles off the back. "Well, I said you looked nice, Embry," she said, smiling, "and I was right."


End file.
